Of Wind and Steel
by PlatonicPangolin
Summary: Set just a few years after the events of Skyrim, the Dragonborn must join forces with a dangerous necromancer and a cunning thief in order to overthrow the Thalmor before they can succeed in wiping mankind from the face of Tamriel.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

The year is 4E 205. Alduin the World-Eater has been defeated, slain in the fields of Sovngarde by the Dragonborn, and the remaining dragons of Skyrim have all but died off. The civil war finally came to a bloody end after the Imperial Legion, under the command of General Tullius, stormed the Palace of Kings in Windhelm and killed Ulfric Stormcloak, thus reuniting Skyrim under one rule- Imperial rule. The Thalmor, however, have since retained their iron grip on the weakened Empire, and continue to act as Skyrim's puppet-masters. Elenwen, originally the chief ambassador of the Thalmor, has prevented Jarl Elisif from ascending to the throne of High Queen, thus ensuring Skyrim remains without a unified leader. Now, bestowing upon herself the title of "High Magistrate", Elenwen effectively holds the true power in Skyrim, ruling over the land from deep within the fortified stone walls of Solitude.

The Dragonborn, an Imperial war veteran named Cassian Spade, has all but faded into obscurity. Firmly uninterested in the politics of the land, he now finds work as a mercenary and occasional bounty hunter. Rarely does he make his identity know to clients, instead preferring to remain anonymous. However, the Thalmor continue to keep tabs on him, occasionally making use of his services in return for gold.

This time, Cassian has been hired by Elenwen herself to track down a group of bandits hiding in an abandoned tower, where there have been rumored sightings of a powerful necromancer once thought to be long dead…

Chapter I

It was cold, but it was always cold. Cassian tugged on his fur coat, pulling it closer to his body as the frigid Nordic wind assaulted him. Though the wintry conditions made it difficult to see, he could just barely make out his destination in the distance: a tall, gray tower, silhouetted against the starry indigo sky. The tower was built into the slope of a large mountain, looming over the vast stretch of empty land far below it.

Supposedly, somewhere inside that tower lurked a dangerous necromancer, along with a handful of bandits acting as her private security force. The bandits didn't really concern Cassian; he'd slain more than his fair share of Skyrim's thugs over the past few years. Rather, it was the necromancer that he was after. Not exactly his usual forte, but mercenaries with his degree of skill were frequently called upon to tackle targets that no one else could. For this particular job, Cassian had been hired by High Magistrate Elenwen herself, head of the Thalmor's presence in Skyrim. Cassian was no fan of the Thalmor, but they weren't the type of client one turned down- not if one liked keeping their head attached firmly to their neck.

According to Elenwen, the necromancer in question was a Breton woman named Malindra Fray. Until recently, Fray had been believed to be dead, executed by Thalmor justiciars at the end of Skyrim's civil war. However, rumors of strange occurrences near the tower had begun to surface, including sightings of a violet-haired sorceress clad in black robes and wielding an enchanted sword- all of which lined up with descriptions of Fray's appearance. If true, such sightings would seem to indicate that the necromancer was, in fact, very much alive.

 _Ironic_ , Cassian thought to himself, _that a necromancer should themselves rise from the dead_.

But then, he hadn't been hired to ponder the irony of the situation. Assuming the sightings were indeed fact and not fiction, his orders were to capture the sorceress and bring her back with him to Solitude, on her own two feet if possible, but in a body bag if necessary. Cassian knew full well that subduing a necromancer would be anything but child's play, especially one as powerful as this Malindra Fray was said to be. But a job is a job, and Cassian wasn't one to back out on a contract.

The frigid air began to take its toll on Cassian's body. His fur coat provided little protection against the extreme cold, and he began to grow numb. Shivering, he reached for the silver ring that hung from a cord around his neck and squeezed it. Immediately, it began to grow warm, sending soothing waves of heat over his skin and throughout his whole body. He sighed with relief as the feeling returned to his frozen fingers and toes.

In truth, he didn't know why the ring had the power to generate heat like it did; it was obviously enchanted, but he had not been the one to enchant it. It was a gift, a keepsake given to him long ago by someone dear to him- someone who was many years dead by now. But Cassian didn't wear the ring for the sake of sentimentality; rather, he wore it because he knew all too well the value of a little warmth in a tundra such as Skyrim.

Cassian marched on, keeping his hand wrapped tightly around the ring so that it continued to heat his body. Finally, after what felt like an eternity trudging through shin-high snow, he reached the base of the tower. Walking up upon the large entranceway, he was disappointed, but not surprised, to find it heavily fortified by spiked wooden barricades. He would need to find another way in.

At least, he _would_ , were he not the Dragonborn.

" _FUS-RO-DAH!_ "

The wooden barricades flew off the ground and were propelled back through the tower's entrance, splintering into pieces as they slammed against the interior wall. Cassian paused for a moment, allowing himself to catch his breath; using a full-powered thu'um always knocked the wind out of him. After he'd fully recovered his stamina, he proceeded into the tower, taking care to step over the chunks of wood and metal that littered the ground.

Almost immediately, Cassian found himself face-to-face with one of the bandit guardsmen he'd been warned about. A Redguard male, the bandit was standing perfectly still, petrified. A shocked expression was visible on his face; clearly, he'd never witnessed the power of a thu'um firsthand. Cassian offered the man a wry smile.

"Hello there."

The bandit shook his head, regaining his senses. He quickly drew his sword from the scabbard at his hip and lunged at Cassian. Cassian, likewise, drew his own sword- a steel blade, with an iron hilt wrapped in brown leather- and walked calmly towards his attacker. He casually raised his sword to deflect the bandit's first swing, which glanced off his blade with a resounding ring. The bandit staggered, then turned back and slashed his sword towards Cassian again. This time, Cassian caught the bandit's blade with his own and twisted it upwards, causing the sword to fly out of the Redguard's hand and across the room. Cassian brought his own sword down hard and slashed it across the bandit's chest. The blade sliced cleanly through the flesh, sending a ribbon of scarlet through the air. The bandit collapsed, lifeless, hitting the stone floor with a loud _thunk_.

Cassian shook the blood off his blade and glanced around. In the far corner of the room, he spotted a stairway that led up to the floor above him. Cassian strode over to the stairway and began walking briskly up its wooden steps. Suddenly, at the top of the stairway, a Dunmer bandit stepped into view. In her hands was a large crossbow, already aimed directly at Cassian's head.

Cassian quickly stepped to the side as the Dunmer fired and the steel bolt whizzed past him, missing his face by mere inches. Cassian turned back and hurled his sword towards the elf. Thrown with the utmost precision, its blade tore right through her chest, killing her instantly; the would-be assassin fell forward and began to tumble down the stairway. Cassian grabbed the hilt of his sword as her limp body barreled past him and yanked it from her chest.

He continued up the stairs and emerged onto the second floor, where three more bandits- a Nord, an Imperial, and an Argonian- were already waiting for him. Without hesitation, the Imperial raised his hands, his palms extended towards Cassian. Blue lightning streaked from his fingertips, crackling with electric power. Cassian quickly dropped into a defensive posture, raising his sword in front of him. The stream of lightning slammed into the flat of the blade, preventing it from reaching his body. The Nord and the Argonian began to move in on either side of him, both wielding steel axes. Cassian watched the two approach from the corners of his eyes, unable to move his blade for risk of being electrocuted.

The Nord reached him first, raising his axe above his head in preparation for a strike. Cassian took a deep breath, sucking in air. Then he expelled it in the form of a powerful shout.

" _Tiid-Klo!_ "

Suddenly, everything became sluggish, as if moving in slow motion. Cassian could see every individual bolt of lightning as it left the Imperial's fingertips, and the Nord's axe now seemed to be taking an eternity to reach him. Also moving in slow motion, Cassian lifted his blade, directing the stream of magical lightning upwards, then began to spin out of the way. Perfectly timed, the lightning was intercepted by the Nord's axe; as Cassian had predicted, it lacked the magical barrier his own blade possessed. The electrical current ran through the steel axe and began to surge through the body of its wielder.

Just then, time returned to its normal pace.

The Nord screamed and convulsed as he was electrocuted. Realizing what had happened, the Imperial broke off the stream of lightning, but it was too late: the Nord crumpled to the ground, dead. Smoke rose from his fried body, his limbs still twitching erratically.

Cassian completed his spin, slashing his blade through the air; it ripped clean through the Argonian's neck, severing head from body. The surviving bandit renewed his magic attack, and once again Cassian caught the stream of lightning on his blade. He began slowly walking towards the Imperial, keeping his sword held in front of him as a shield. Desperate, the bandit backed against the stone wall, struggling to maintain the stream of lightning spewing from his fingers. His internal reserve of magicka was beginning to dwindle.

Cassian advanced on the bandit until they were only a foot apart, the blue lightning sizzling as it lashed against his blade. He held it there, smiling coldly at the Imperial; they both knew what was about to happen. Sure enough, after a moment the stream of lightning vanished, leaving nothing but smoke rising from the red-hot blade of Cassian's sword.

The bandit gulped.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

In truth, there is only one thing which separates necromancers from everyone else. To common folk, the bodies of the dead are nothing but a burden- putrid, rotting hunks of flesh and bone that fill their graves and litter their battlefields. They no longer serve any real purpose but to remind people of the soul which once inhabited them, a soul which has long since left its earthly shell behind.

To necromancers, however, the bodies of the dead are some of the most invaluable tools one could wish for.

At least, that's what Malindra Fray's father had told her. Not her real father, of course- her real father had himself been a glowing example of this rule, for he was much more useful dead than he'd ever been in life- but rather her adopted father, Lucius Fray, a necromancer whose very name still sent shivers up the spines of priests and holy men all across Tamriel. Lucius had taken the young Malindra under his wing when she was just a newly-orphaned little girl, living out of an abandoned shack hidden deep within the swampy forests of High Rock. Whether by destiny or chance, he had stumbled upon her humble abode one night and found her curled up inside the attic, vulnerable, afraid, and very much alone.

The thought of it irked her to this day. How very pathetic she had been.

Yet even then, Lucius could feel the raw power emanating from her, power he hadn't felt the like of in centuries- the kind of power no wizard worth his salt would leave to die alone in the Breton wilderness. Thus began the girl's long tutorage in the dark arts, a tutorage which had lasted up until Lucius' demise twelve years ago- six years after Malindra's skill had surpassed his own.

Not that his death had mattered much to Malindra. Though Lucius had always claimed to be her surrogate father, the title lacked any of the parental affection that usually accompanies it. She was never anything more than a tool to him, a blank slate on which he could imprint his teachings and create a legacy. Though in a way, Malindra was grateful to him. He had created a powerful sorceress- one whose skill in the dark arts had surpassed even his own, many years before his death. Malindra just wished he hadn't taken so long to die.

The sorceress now stood with her ear pressed against the wooden door of her chamber, absentmindedly gazing at the wall through her locks of violet hair. She could hear an intruder on the floor below, and, judging by the sound of the scream which had just pierced the air, whoever it was was making short work of her house guards. She should've known better than to hire a crew of ragtag bandits, but one's options were limited when they wished to retain their anonymity. Of course, it was now obvious that her anonymity had run out anyway.

What puzzled her, though, was that she could've sworn she'd heard the distinctive sound of a thu'um just a few moments prior. There were not many people left in Skyrim who possessed such a skill, and fewer still who could speak in the dragon tongue with such clarity and precision. That could only mean one of two things: either one of the Greybeards was chopping through her men down there, or it was the Dragonborn himself. And as the Greybeards hadn't left their perch on High Hrothgar for decades, she was pretty confident it was the latter. But as for why the Dragonborn would be looking for her, she could not even begin to fathom.

She turned briskly on her heel and strode towards the table in the center of the room. It was littered with various potions and ingredients, as well as a handful of leather-bound spellbooks and a single ebony dagger, the blade of which was buried in the table's wooden surface. Malindra grabbed the dagger by its hilt and yanked it from the table, then slid it into the small sheath buckled around her thigh. Next, she began sweeping as many of the potions as she could into the black satchel hung over her shoulder, in addition to a handful of extra ingredients and spare bottles. Finally, she picked up a small glass vial, inside of which a deep green liquid was visible. She gripped the vial tightly in her hand as the sound she had been expecting finally arrived: that of a boot slamming into the wooden door behind her. It flew open, banging loudly against the stone wall. Malindra turned around.

Standing in the door frame was a man, broad-shouldered and muscular, with dark brown hair hanging over his face. His bare chest, covered in black tattoos, was visible beneath his large fur coat, and his hands were shrouded in fingerless black gloves. He wore dark trousers that fed into shin-high black boots. A long necklace hung over his chest, a silver ring tied to the end of it. Malindra thought she could make out runes running along the ring's circumference, but she could not read them.

The man stepped into the room, keeping a firm grip on the sword by his side.

"I take it you're the necromancer I've heard so much about."

Malindra feigned a warm smile. "Now, where would you get that idea?"

The man feigned a smile in return. "Ah. Funny. Now if you'll just follow me, we can do this the easy way."

Malindra let out an exaggerated sigh, blowing strands of violet hair out of her face. She pretended to think for a moment, tapping her chin and biting her lip. Finally, she shook her head.

"Nah. I've always preferred to do things the hard way."

The man raised his sword, but Malindra was faster. She threw the glass vial at the man's feet and it shattered against the floor, sending a plume of green smoke up into the air. Then she turned, ran across the room, and leaped through the window, bursting through the glass panel. She plummeted towards the ground below, where the reanimated corpse of the Redguard bandit was already waiting to catch her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Cassian coughed as the green smoke filled his nose and entered his lungs. It stung, but it wasn't lethal. The witch must not have been expecting an attack so soon. Cassian pushed through the cloud of smoke until he could see the far wall, at which point his fear was confirmed: the witch had, indeed jumped through the window. Cursing, Cassian turned on his heel and hurried back down the stairwell.

Waiting for him on the landing below were the three dead bandits he had killed mere moments ago. Though instead of lying motionless on the ground, they were now back on their feet, hoisting their weapons and slowly moving towards him. The Nord's skin was charred and red, and the Argonian was still headless.

Cassian groaned, raising his sword. "Damned necromancers."

The Nord swung his axe at Cassian's head, just as the headless Argonian moved in on his right flank. Cassian caught the Nord's axe with his blade and at the same time lashed out with his right leg, kicking the Argonian in the chest and sending him stumbling backwards. The Nord brought his axe back, then quickly followed through with another swing. Cassian sidestepped and the axe _whooshed_ past him, missing him by a hair. Cassian slashed his sword through the Nord's wrist, severing his axe-hand from his body and causing blood to geyser out of the wound. The dead Nord did not scream, nor acknowledge his loss of a limb in any way. Instead, he continued advancing on Cassian, his soulless eyes gazing at nothing in particular. Behind him, the Imperial and the headless Argonian did the same, all three of them advancing on Cassian like mindless zombies- which, Cassian figured, they basically were. He hoisted his sword, ready to attack.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp jab in the small of his back, causing him to cry out in pain and stagger to his knees. Reaching his arm back, he felt the wooden shaft of a crossbow bolt protruding from his flesh. He glanced around to find the Dunmer marksman moving in behind him, leveling her crossbow at him. Blood was still leaking from the hole in her chest, and her body was covered in bruises from where she'd tumbled down the stairs. She was already loading another bolt into the bow.

Cassian gritted his teeth, then grabbed the shaft of the bolt and yanked it out of his back. Its steel tip was coated in blood. Sighing, he chucked the bolt to the side and readied his sword again. The three bandits continued advancing, shuffling towards him in the same zombie-like manner.

Though he'd shrugged off worse wounds in combat before, Cassian didn't like his odds. Fighting opponents who didn't react to pain was a dangerous game- one he wasn't in the mood to play. Behind him, he heard the Dunmer's bolt click into place, ready to spring. It was now or never.

Cassian tucked his shoulder to his knee and rolled to the side, moving out of the elf's line of fire. The Dunmer loosed the bolt anyway, and it whirled through the air before burying itself into the Imperial's chest with a _thump_.

Cassian finished his roll, staggering a bit as he felt the sting of his wound. Spots of dark red blood dotted the floor where his back had passed over. All four of the bandits again turned to face him. Posted on one knee, Cassian breathed in hard, sucking as much air into his lungs as he could muster. Then he let loose, expelling the air in a powerful bellow that shook the walls.

" _FUS-RO-DAH!_ "

The force-waves from his thu'um slammed against the undead bandits, sending them hurtling against the far wall. The ancient tower's stone mortar could not handle the force of the impact and it disintegrated on impact, causing the bandits to bust through the wall and plunge through the air.

Cassian panted, catching his breath. He chuckled in relief, then grimaced as his back wound spiked in pain. He reached into the small pouch at his belt and rummaged through it, withdrawing a small red bottle. He popped the bottle's cork and downed some of the concoction inside. The liquid was cool and soothing, and the pain in his back quickly dissipated. Cassian resealed the healing potion and put it back in his pouch, then stood up. He sheathed his sword and hurried down the next flight of stairs; he still had a runaway necromancer to catch.

He emerged from the tower, glancing around for any sign of the violet-haired witch. Suddenly, the armored shoulder of a heavyset man barreled into his chest, knocking the wind out of him. "Oof!" Cassian cried out, as the undead Redguard tackled him to the ground and began pummeling him with punch after punch. Cassian tried to shield his face from the Redguard's hammer-like blows, but the bandit was relentless, breaking through his guard with ease. Cassian ran his hand over the ground, desperately trying to find something that could help him; he didn't have enough of an angle to draw his sword.

Finally, his hand ran over a splintered wooden plank- a piece of debris from the barricade Cassian had blown apart earlier. Cassian grabbed the chunk of wood and slammed it against the Redguard's head, causing him to tumble to the ground. Cassian quickly rolled over and drove the sharp end of the plank into the Redguard's neck. It broke through the skin, but did nothing to pacify the undead bandit, who wrapped his hands around Cassian's neck.

As the Redguard began to choke him, Cassian tightened his grip on the wooden plank. With his free hand, he grabbed the ring around his neck and squeezed it as hard as he could. The ring began to grow red-hot, sending waves of immense heat through Cassian's body. Cassian closed his eyes, concentrating. He channeled the heat through his right arm and into the hand gripping the wooden plank. The plank itself began to grow hot, then burst into flames.

Cassian released the plank and quickly scooted away from the Redguard as the fire began to spread over the man's whole body. The Redguard, paying no heed to his burning flesh, stood up and began to walk towards Cassian; however, after a few steps he stumbled to the ground, completely engulfed in flames. Cassian breathed a sigh of relief as the Redguard finally laid still, his body burning to a crisp in the cold, dead grass.

Cassian clambered to his feet and dusted himself off. The Redguard had given him more than a few good blows to the face, and his whole body ached. Regardless, he had to push on if he was going to catch the necromancer. He hurried around the side of the tower, scanning everywhere for a sign of the violet-haired witch.

It didn't take him long to spot her. A few meters below the tower, a stone bridge protruded from the side of the mountain, stretching over the valley below and connecting to a smaller mountain on the other side. Halfway across that bridge was the necromancer, running towards the far mountain.

Cassian leapt forward, sliding down the mountainside until he reached the bridge. He landed hard on the stone surface, causing the necromancer to glance back; upon seeing her pursuer, she picked up her pace, running at a dead sprint now.

Cassian breathed in, bracing himself. Then he shouted. " _Wuld-Nah-Kest!_ "

Suddenly, everything became a blur as the thu'um propelled Cassian across the bridge at a whirlwind speed, quickly closing the gap between him and his quarry. Cassian dove and tackled the witch by her legs, sending both of them crashing down onto the surface of the bridge.

The witch grunted, looking back at Cassian. "Get _off_ of me!" she cried, lashing out with her leg. Her boot caught Cassian in the face, causing blood to spurt from his nose. The witch climbed to her feet and began moving forward again, and in a desperate attempt to stop her Cassian grabbed hold of the black satchel slung over her body and yanked it. The witch stopped short, held back by the satchel. Frustrated, she grabbed onto the satchel's strap and pulled it towards her, attempting to wrestle it out of Cassian's grasp.

Somewhere in the midst of this tug-of-war, the satchel overturned, spilling its contents onto the bridge. The potion bottles shattered, creating a small explosion that cracked the surface of the bridge and sent plumes of multicolored smoke into the air.

Cassian let go of the satchel as he realized what had happened. Both he and the witch stood perfectly still as the cracks continued to run throughout the stone bridge, threatening to bring it crumbling down at any second. Cassian looked up at the witch, who returned his gaze; neither of them dared to move a muscle.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of suspense, the cracking stopped. Cautiously, Cassian took a step forward, slowly transferring his weight onto his leading leg. Nothing happened; the bridge was still stable. Breathing a sigh of relief, Cassian began to chuckle. After a moment, the witch began to chuckle, too.

Then the bridge gave way beneath them.

Cassian fell to his back, sliding down the slanted bridge as it split into two. At the very last second he managed to grab hold of the ledge, preventing him from plummeting to certain death.

The necromancer wasn't so lucky. Unable to find a handhold in time, she slid right off the collapsing bridge and tumbled through the air. Almost by instinct, Cassian reached out just in time and managed to catch her by the wrist, holding onto her as she clung to his arm for dear life.

The witch looked up at him. For the faintest moment, Cassian could've sworn he saw fear in her eyes; a split-second later, her expression turned to one of disgust as she realized she was at the man's mercy.

Cassian grunted as he attempted to hold her weight and keep a grip on the ledge at the same time. "Still prefer the hard way?" he shouted down to her.

"Just pull us up already!" the witch shouted back as what remained of the bridge began to crumble, threatening to collapse further.

"A 'please' would be nice," Cassian muttered through gritted teeth. Mustering all the strength in his body, he hoisted the necromancer up next to him. Both of them grabbed hold of the ledge with both hands and pulled themselves over it, climbing onto the slanted surface. The bridge continued to crumble as they ran across it, the cracked stone surface buckling under their weight.

Finally, they reached the landing on the far side, across the valley from the mountain where the tower stood. A mere second after they stepped off the bridge, its last supports finally caved in, causing the whole structure to collapse into the valley below.

Both Cassian and the witch doubled over, catching their breath.

"Well, that was exciting," said the witch. "Truly… invigorating." She coughed, clearing the dust from her throat. "Now then, I'd best continue on my way, if you don't…"

Her voice trailed off as she looked up. Cassian already had his blade drawn and directed at her throat.

"You're not going anywhere," he assured her.

The witch sighed in exasperation.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Elenwen moaned with pleasure.

Atop her, Brunwulf Free-Winter, Jarl of Windhelm, grunted as he plowed into her. His motions were slow but powerful, his hands posted firmly on either side of her head, his face buried in her neck. Elenwen ran her hands down his back, her fingernails gently scratching the Nord's thick skin. She could feel him within her, the steady rhythm of his member as it moved in and out of her insides. Elenwen moaned again, louder this time, urging the Nord towards his inevitable climax. He began to pick up speed, bucking his hips against hers, bracing himself for his release.

Gods, how Elenwen wanted to kill him right then and there.

But she knew she couldn't. Such an act, however satisfying it may be, would be bad for diplomacy. And as the ruler of Skyrim in all but name, diplomacy was a vital part of Elenwen's job. She just wished _this_ part wasn't- the part that involved feigning pleasure as the savage brute on top of her finally emptied his seed into her. His filthy, Nord seed, no doubt carrying filthy, Nord babies. Already, Elenwen was looking forward to taking a very long bath.

She wasn't worried about getting pregnant- there were plenty of spells to prevent that from happening. She just wished she didn't have to sleep with these hairy idiots in the first place. But seduction was an invaluable tool in Skyrim politics. The Nords were a stubborn and short-sighted bunch, who all too often let their petty senses of "honor" and "tradition" take precedence over reason and logic. But for all their talk of integrity, Elenwen had found the Nords surprisingly easy to manipulate, so long as one was willing to spread their legs every now and then. And Elenwen wasn't afraid to play dirty.

All things considered, she actually found it somewhat amusing. Here were the mighty Nords of Skyrim, known for their fierce independence and burning hatred of elves, all caught between her thighs- the thighs of an elf, no less- like flies in a web. And the best part? So many of them didn't even know it. Even this idiot was probably clueless to the influence she now exerted over him. In his mind, he was likely priding himself on another hard-won conquest, another lowly woman claimed by the might of his fierce Nordic spear.

Let him have his delusions. Elenwen would soon get what she needed from him.

Brunwulf rolled off her and collapsed onto the bed, panting. Elenwen swung her legs off the bed and sat up. She picked her nightshirt up off the floor and pulled it over her, buttoning it together.

"You elves… you certainly know how to please a man," Brunwulf said aloud, after his breathing had returned to its normal pace.

 _And how to kill one,_ Elenwen thought to herself. Of course, that's not what she said out loud. "Oh, and it's our pleasure to please you," she cooed, facing away from him and rolling her eyes. "You Nords are so very… _stimulating_."

Brunwulf got up from the bed and began pulling his tunic on. "Well, I'd better get back to Eastmarch. City to run, and all that."

"I trust you'll take what we discussed under consideration," said Elenwen, pulling her undergarment up her legs. "I would hate to see the alliance we've worked so hard to build fall apart due to some mischievous band of rebels."

"You'll have your troops, High Magistrate," said Brunwulf, buckling his sword to his hip and walking towards the door. "And we'll quash this petty rebellion before it even begins."

Elenwen gave the Nord a warm smile. "Thank you, Jarl Brunwulf. I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I," said Brunwulf, returning her smile. He opened the door and stepped out of the room, pulling it shut behind him. Immediately, Elenwen stood up and walked briskly to the other door on the opposite side of the room. She rapped her knuckles against it three times; a moment later it swung open, revealing a young Altmer man dressed in servant's attire. His cheeks grew red at the sight of Elenwen in her undergarments, but he stood firmly at attention nonetheless.

"High Magistrate."

"Send an escort with the jarl to ensure he does as he is told," said Elenwen. "And send Ondolemar to my chambers. I would speak with him."

"Yes, High Magistrate. Your will is ours to serve," said the servant, bowing his head before hurrying off to carry out his instructions.

Elenwen closed the door and walked back to the bed, where a black silk robe laid at the foot of it. She picked it up and pulled it over her body, then tied it together around her waist. Slowly, she breathed in, then uttered an incantation in the Aldmeri language. A shiver ran through her body, culminating in her pelvic region. The Nord's seed would no longer be a problem, though she still longed to take a bath. She regretted sending for Ondolemar so soon.

She hoped Brunwulf's men would be worth the price she paid for them. What they lacked in brains, the Nords made up for in brawn; precisely the kind of troops she needed to bring a swift and decisive end to the rebel forces amassing in the Pale. Built upon the remnants of Ulfric's Stormcloaks, this new rebellion was far from the scale of its predecessor, but word of its existence was beginning to spread across Skyrim. Elenwen didn't have time to put down another uprising; now that the Thalmor had finally brought Skyrim under its heel, a complete takeover of Tamriel by the Aldmeri Dominion was quickly coming within reach. Quelling another civil war would set their plans back considerably. Elenwen would not allow that to happen.

There was a knock at the door. "Enter," said Elenwen, turning around. The door opened, and Ondolemar stepped through it.

Although somewhat short for an Altmer, Ondolemar was arguably the second-most powerful elf in the Thalmor. Commander of the Justiciars, the Thalmor's elite peacekeeping force, he directed most of the organization's military operations and answered directly to the High Magistrate. He also had a personal disdain for Talos, and a sizable chip on his shoulder.

He saluted upon entering the room. "High Magistrate."

Elenwen nodded. "Commander. At ease."

Ondolemar dropped his salute, clasping his hands behind his back. "You called for me?"

"I request an update on the status of our forces in High Rock. How soon will they be ready for deployment in to Hammerfell?"

"Shortly, High Magistrate," said Ondolemar. "They're already in touch with our men stationed south of Markarth. When you give the word, they will converge upon Dragonstar and set up a forward operating base there."

"What of the Redguards? What kind of resistance should we be expecting?"

"Not much. Our spies report that their military remains in a state of disarray. The cities are mostly defended by pockets of militia fighters, who lack any formal training and rely heavily on guerilla tactics." Ondolemar puffed out his chest a bit, speaking his next words with pride. "They shouldn't be much of a challenge for our Justiciars."

Elenwen nodded. "Good. Inform me as soon as all forces are ready to move out, but make sure they avoid antagonizing the Redguards until that point. I must see that this new rebellion of ours is dealt with before we go to war."

"Yes, High Magistrate. Your will is ours to serve." Ondolemar gave a curt bow and left the room.

Elenwen stood for a moment, then walked to the door. She opened it and stuck her head out.

"Servant!"

The man quickly responded to her call, running to the door and standing at attention.

"Yes, High Magistrate?"

"Prepare a bath," said Elenwen. "And make it hot."


End file.
